


Derek Does Zumba

by Curlee_Cue



Series: Sweatin' with the Sourwolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frotting, Insecure!Derek, M/M, because derek hale will always be hot no matter what, comforting!stiles, learning to love your body, sorta crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curlee_Cue/pseuds/Curlee_Cue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles shows Derek just how much he loves his Zumba shaking hips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek Does Zumba

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kawaiicoyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiicoyote/gifts).



> **Author’s Note:**
> 
> Happy Birthday, Kawaiicoyote! I hope this birthday fic is close to what you were hoping for. More importantly, I hope it makes you smile on this very special day of your birth. (I didn’t get to work in the tattoo!kink because I felt like this should be a face-to-face encounter, but hopefully you’ll like it anyway??) Enjoy!
> 
> This is a companion fic to my much longer fic, “[“Sweatin’ with the Sourwolf ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/836692).” But you don’t need to have read that fic to read this one except to know that Derek gained weight a few years after everyone left to college, and is now trying to work some of it off (while learning how to love his new body).
> 
> PS – this was sort of quickly whipped up, so forgive me if it’s not 100% top-notch quality. Also, this is in no way meant to be a chaser fic. I’m not writing this as a fetish. I’m writing it as two men who care for each other and love each other’s bodies simply because they belong to the person they love.

~oOo~

“Okay, work those hips, ladies! You, too, gentlemen! You’re not going to get off easy just because it’s your first time!”

Latin music echoed off the walls as a group of twelve women or so swished and thrust and jutted in natural coordination. In a not so small corner, Stiles, Derek, and most of the pack tried desperately not to flail their limbs too terribly. Well, Stiles tried not to flail his limbs too terribly. Derek barely moved, his arms stiff and rigid at his sides, his hips apparently incapable of any swishing. Isaac and Scott kept falling over each other in embarrassed laughter, and Erica had seemed to take to Zumba like a fish in water. Fucking Erica. 

“You too, Mr. Grumpy!” The instructor shouted, stopping to walk over to Derek. Stiles totally would have gone to his rescue except that, actually, he really didn’t want to. Because there was no way there was anything funnier than watching Derek get scolded by a 110 pound, salsa-dancing Colombian. Stiles watched in absolute glee as the petite brunette placed her hands on Derek’s hips and forced him to thrust them left and right and then around in a wide arc.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growled. Which, what? It wasn’t _his_ fault Derek put so little effort into the dance that the instructor had to single him out and manhandle him. (Which, surprisingly, Stiles was pretty okay with. Alright, it is possible that Stiles probably would have _paid_ to see this kind of manhandling.) Sure, maybe it _had_ been Stiles’ idea to try Zumba lessons as a fun new workout, but hey, he’d convinced nearly the entire pack to come – he should be praised and fawned over, not _growled_ at.

So Derek’s growling for Stiles to get him out of this? Not gonna work.

“Don’t look at me. You need to swish those sexy hips, baby!” Stiles goaded, emphasizing the command with a little thrust of his own. Derek’s glower only made it harder for Stiles not to laugh. Although, really, who was he kidding? Stiles had been laughing since Derek had put on those neon pink spandex shorts Stiles had bought him, claiming it was required attire for all things Zumba. Um… yeah. He was probably going to have to pay for that at some point. But hey. Live while you’re young, right? 

Whatever. Totally worth it. (Stiles had the iPhone pics to prove it.)

“Derek, don’t be such an ass. Just fucking _do_ it!” Erica exclaimed, dancing and out of breath but smiling nonetheless. It was kind of really annoying how boss Erica was at everything. I mean, seriously. Half the point of inviting her had been to see her make a complete ass of herself. Stiles could see he was going to have to get a lot more creative with Project: Humiliate Erica. Someone needed to knock her off her high horse. And Stiles was going to be just the person to do it. Some day….

“I _am_ ,” Derek snarled. And he pivoted his hips so violently, Stiles feared for the future functionality of his groin. 

“Oh, my god. Don’t hurt yourself!” Stiles wailed.

“No, no. That’s fantastic! The enthusiasm – it’s wonderful. I can _feel_ the passion _vibrating_ from your very soul. This one if going to be a natural!” The instructor proclaimed, to which Stiles tried very hard not to outright gape. Tried. And failed. 

“You see that, Derek! You’re a natural,” Isaac grinned. Bless his soul. 

“Whatever,” Derek muttered broodily. Except that he was totally so friggin smiling. Stiles didn’t even know why he tried to hide it. 

They spent the rest of the hour learning to dance with side steps and forward steps, then back steps and even a little turning about in place. It was glorious and hilarious and kind of maybe filled Stiles’ heart with a little fluttery feeling to see Derek grinning every time the instructor praised him. God. Stiles was dating the Zumba class teacher’s pet. Stiles was only maybe a little bit proud.

***

“Man, I can’t believe Boyd didn’t come. That was _awesome_ ,” Scott crowed when they exited the building for their respective cars.

“It’s probably because he’s the only one of us with half an ounce of self-preservation left,” Derek grumbled, which, dude. Don’t even. Next to Erica, Derek probably had the most fun of all. Stiles totally saw him sneak up to the instructor while everyone was gathering their stuff to leave. He didn’t need wolfy hearing senses to know Derek had asked about the next Zumba lesson. Which Stiles was totally crashing. If only to watch those sexy hips swing once more. 

“Oh, shut up. You loved it,” Erica said dismissively before tackling Derek with a hug. “You looked so happy,” she whispered, and then pecked him quickly on the cheek before Derek could pull away.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles cut in. “Everyone off the Alpha. I called dibs like a whole two months ago.”

Isaac and Scott rolled their eyes. Erica grinned saucily at him. And Derek, well, at least he wasn’t denying it? Small wins, yeah?

The car ride back to Derek’s loft was probably the most entertaining car ride Stiles had ever had. Stiles blasted Zumba music through the stereo the whole way there, dancing and twisting about like a monkey on crack in an attempt to get Derek to join in. It’s possible that he even swerved off the road twice and almost hit an old lady once in his commitment to dancing Derek into submission. Whatever. If you can’t stand the Zumba, get out the street, lady. 

Plus, totally worth it. Because Derek? Dude rolled his eyes the whole ride home, which Stiles had long since realized was code for ‘affection.’

When they got to the loft, Stiles raced to the shower, stripping his clothes off without preamble. “Derek,” he called out from the bathroom, opening the door wide in invitation. It wasn’t the first time he’d put himself on display for Derek. 

“What.” Derek asked, in that voice that never quite reached question pitch. 

“I don’t know about you, but I just feel awful about all the precious water that gets wasted in the heat of California summers.”

Derek raised a questioning brow.

“Wanna help me conserve California’s most precious natural resource?” Stiles waggled his brows, pulling the door even wider.

“I already take short showers. _You’re_ the one who takes twenty minutes just to lather up your soap.”

Okay. Clearly Stiles was going to have to be about a billion times more explicit. “I _meant_ , why don’t you _join_ me?”

Stiles was expecting it, sure, but that didn’t make it any less disappointing when Derek immediately stiffened, his shoulders raised high and rigid at the invitation. 

“No. The shower’s too small. I’ll wait.” And with that, he left. 

Stiles tried not to slam the door in his frustration. They’d been dating for two months, but Derek had yet to let Stiles see him naked. Sure, they’d advanced past the making out to mutual hand jobs and even a ton of awesome (so fucking awesome) blow jobs, but it was always over the clothes. They tore at each other’s jeans, and Derek let Stiles unzip his fly enough to pull out his turgid, oh so beautiful cock, but he never let Stiles pull the pants down or shove his shirt up.

Stiles had tried to encourage Derek to open up a bit. He’d been quick to remove his own clothes, and Derek was always happy to worship every inch of Stiles’ flesh, but the moment Stiles made a move to do the same, Derek pulled away, took the lead, created a distraction to pull Stiles’ hands off him. And it was driving him _insane_.

Stiles understood. He really did. Derek wasn’t back to his twenty year-old physique. He was still a little soft around the edges, and he couldn’t quite fit back into all his old jeans. And Stiles realized it meant a lot to Derek, this quest to return to his former self. 

But he also understood that it was wreaking havoc on Derek’s self-esteem. It was one thing to want to better yourself, and another to hate yourself in the process. Not that Stiles would say Derek altogether hated himself, but he was clearly uncomfortable with his body, didn’t like the way he looked. Derek didn’t even sleep without a shirt on, didn’t leave the shower without having fully dress. It was as if Derek himself couldn’t stand to be around his naked form, and it made something inside Stiles break.

“All yours,” Stiles said when he emerged from the shower, towel slung low around his hips. He didn’t miss the appreciative glance Derek sent him before slipping into the shower himself. 

Stiles didn’t know how much was okay to push, but he at least had to try. If nothing else, he had to let Derek know that Stiles thought he was perfect already. Because he did. He fucking worshipped the ground Derek walked on, and he didn’t know how Derek couldn’t see that. Even with all the Sexy Times they put in together, Stiles couldn’t help but go on solo masturbation ventures just to release the pressure of the thought of stripping Derek naked. Because Derek _was_ sexy to Stiles, there was no doubt about it. But it was more than that. Stiles wanted to bring Derek all the pleasure he could give. He wanted the intimacy of completely bearing themselves to each other, exposing everything and trusting each other with the vulnerability that entailed. 

The problem was, Derek didn’t even trust himself with his own vulnerability. Stiles wasn’t sure how he was going to get Derek to entrust it with him. 

Stiles sat on the bed and waited for Derek to finish his shower. When he did, stepping past the door fully dressed as usual, Stiles smiled as openly as possible and beckoned Derek towards him.

This part was easy. Derek always came. In more ways than one. (Ba-dum tsh!)

Stiles curled his fingers into the belt loops around Derek’s waist, pulling him closer as he pressed his face into Derek’s groin, mouthing at the quickly growing erection. Derek let out a breathy sigh and rested his hand against Stiles’ head, running his thumb back and forth along the cropped hair. 

When Derek grew fully erect, Stiles pulled back and tugged on the zipper, freeing the red hot dick. (Ah… it was so lovely having a boyfriend who always went commando.)

Stiles pressed a gentle kiss against the glistening head before pressing his tongue flat against the slit and licking. He always liked this part best. Tasting the bitter salt of _Derek_. Not gonna lie. It didn’t actually _taste_ all that good. But it _felt_ good. Knowing that this was Derek. _This_ was his flavor. 

Stiles licked up and down the length before wrapping careful lips around the head and sucking, tongue never stopping. He bobbed back and forth and relished the delicate sounds Derek made before stopping. Derek was close, and that was the point.

“I want to see you,” Stiles said when he looked up and met Derek’s gaze.

“You are seeing me.”

“No,” he said more firmly this time, sliding a tentative hand up Derek’s belly. “I want to _see_ you.”

“Stiles,” Derek began, an excuse already on his lips. But Stiles was not going to let him brush it off so easily this time.

“Derek. Please. You have to stop this. You’re gorgeous. You really are. I thought you were gorgeous the first time I saw you, and I thought you were just as gorgeous two months ago. A little depressed, sure, but still so fucking hot I couldn’t stop jerking off to the thought of you even when my dad was sleeping under the same fucking roof.”

“Don’t fucking _lie_ , Stiles,” Derek gritted through his teeth, breaking eye contact as he glared at the wall.

“I’m not lying. Look at me.” Stiles tugged at Derek’s shirt till he complied. “Now listen,” he said, placing Derek’s hand against his chest. “You make my heart beat faster.”

“Wow. Has that line worked for you before?”

“Shut up. Just shut up, you fucking dickhead, okay? I’m trying to tell you something important.” Stiles waited for Derek’s grunt of consent before continuing. “When I wake up, the first thing I think about is coffee. But right after that, I think about you.”

“I’m honored. Really.”

Stiles went on, unhindered. Because Derek wasn’t going to stop being an ass until he stopped feeling on the defensive. And it seemed no one but Stiles was going to be able to make that happen. “When I zone out and stop paying attention to a conversation, you know what I’m thinking about? You. And when I pass a set of plushy animals, one of which even remotely resembles a grumpy little wolf, I think about you. And when I’m sitting by myself, thinking about where I’d rather be, or what I’d rather be doing, all I think is: you. And in none of those thoughts do I ever think about any other version of you than the one standing before me right here. Right now. Because you’re perfect. Just the way you are. And if you need me to start singing Bruno Mars just to burn it into your stupid fucking ears, then I will. I swear to God, Derek, I fucking will.” And just so Derek didn’t think he was bluffing, Stiles reached across the bed for his phone, because while the whole world needed to just accept that Stiles is a fucking awesome singer, even he will admit that he needs a back up beat to help him along the way. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, with enough emotion that Stiles was pretty hopeful that something had gotten through to the idiot. A long pause followed. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Of course you can. Derek, please. In the words of the great Aladdin, don’t you fucking trust me?”

“I really doubt that’s a Disney line.”

“It’s the uncensored version. Original cut before the big man came in. Back to the point. Do you trust me?”

Derek sighed. “Yes.”

“Okay, then. Let me show you how much you make me feel.”

Derek bit his lip, then nodded – a quick, jerky movement. 

And Stiles maybe died a little bit inside. Breathing in raggedly, he reached up and tugged, standing to pull Derek’s shirt over his head. When he looked down, Derek stood immobile and stiff, more uncomfortable than Stiles had ever seen him. And he knew he had to act fast. Show Derek just how very much Stiles wanted this before he could have second thoughts and pull away. 

Stiles swooped forward and grabbed a nipple tight between his lips, teeth brushing gently against the pert nub. He rubbed his hands up Derek’s sides and squeezed at the soft flesh there, moaning to let Derek know just how delicious it felt. God, Stiles was practically playing out his own wet dreams.

“Derek,” he exhaled shakily, sucking harder and pressing tight against Derek’s stomach. He was so warm. It felt wonderful, and Stiles just wanted _more_.

He turned them around and pushed Derek till the backs of his knees hit the mattress and forced him to sit. Then Stiles straddled his lap and prodded forward with a hand until Derek was lying on his back. He pressed a gentle kiss against Derek’s lips before sliding lower, licking every patch of skin along the way to Derek’s belly. He paused to rub his whole face against it, feeling like cat and not caring. It was Derek, and it was amazing, and he really fucking hoped Derek would finally get a clue and understand just how awesome Stiles thought he was.

“I want you so much,” he whispered against Derek’s skin, relishing at the stuttered breath Derek took above him. Slowly, Stiles moved lower, tugging at Derek’s pants till Derek lay before him, completely naked.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and kissed the ambivalent look right off Derek’s face. “You are,” he insisted. “You make me so fucking hot.” He rubbed his cock a little desperately against Derek’s stomach, wanting more of Derek’s touch.

And suddenly, Derek was kissing back, fierce and hungry, his hands squeezing at Stile’s ass, the towel long forgotten. He bucked up into Stiles’ hips, rubbing his own hard dick against him. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles moaned, and Derek grunted hot and greedy against Stiles’ lips. Before Stiles could fully process the full extent of what had just happened, Derek gripped Stiles’ ass harder and flipped them over, tugging Stiles’ thighs tight around his waist. “Oh, my _god_. _Derek_!” Stiles wailed as Derek ground their dicks together, swift and eager and for once not worrying about the gentle press of his stomach against Stiles’. And thank the fucking lord, because the added friction was fucking fantastic. Stiles curved his spine upward, reaching out for more of that touch, shoving as much of himself onto Derek as possible: his dick, his stomach, his chest. He pulled up with his arms, clenched around Derek’s shoulders, wanting to press their abdomens together as tightly as possible. God, Stiles was in fucking bliss.

He felt the telltale uncoiling at the base of his belly before he could stop it, and with one more strangled, “ _Derek_ ,” Stiles felt himself release all over their stomachs, hot and wet and beautiful. Derek was still moving above him, rutting and grunting until with one final, powerful thrust (no, but seriously. Dude fucking sent them sliding like a full two feet up the bed with that thrust), he was writhing, cum spurting up so far Stiles felt a hot splotch against the underside of his chin. 

Now was totally _not_ the time to laugh, so Stiles reined it in. He really did. He reined it in so tight, he deserves a fucking _medal_. Instead, he waited for Derek’s breathing to slow, waited till Derek let Stiles tug him down to rest against him, bodies pressed warm and comforting together, and said, “I guess those Zumba moves really helped after all.”

And, um, okay, Stiles was totally not expecting Derek to choke quite so hard at that comment. I mean, seriously. Did he even _know_ Stiles? Like, how the fuck was he supposed to refrain from making a comment at the way Derek had just thrust at Stiles like it was the last dance move in a worldwide Zumba championship tournament?

“Stiles, you are such a fucking ass.”

(And then they fell in love some more.)

THE END.


End file.
